On We Go
by certainlyjim
Summary: A very AU where errybody's at least some part Vulcan, and in every universe Jim and Spock will meet. Will eventually be ensemble. Also I do what I want so this is sorta pre-reform or something. (((eventual s/k))) uneven chapters
1. Chapter 1

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: first time trekker here folks, betchya that scared everyone away.

_this is a combination of two separate pieces, so if anythings wacky just give me heads up

* * *

Spock jumps down from the cliff, landing gently, and he begins jogging through the shear walls of red Vulcan rock. He listens to the wind, howling just above and the sand skittering at his feet. He does not feel the prowl of his prey. He is hunting, bereft of company and enjoying the numbing of a normal task, as he fingers his sheath. His father had wanted him to travel towards the sprawling cities to the north were his brother Sybock resided in perpetual resistance to the clan. He had not acquiesced. He pauses on the edge of an overhang leaning forward to breathe the hot wind. The stench of another was nearby and he did not recognize who. He should vacate the area, and leave the Vulcan to their own, and not venture lower, crouching, a hand out to steady against the wind to see the sprawled body just below. He would not retreat for fear of an incapacitated individual. He frowns, where were this Vulcan's clan members, to leave them here to suffer needlessly in the elements. He would not leave a clan member to die; he would not leave a weaker clan member to die; that is what a clan was for, to protect that which will protect you.

This strange Vulcan intrudes on lands claimed by his clan, and he does not know of any recent Vulcans that have petitioned for admittance. Spock glances to the side, measuring the distance between him and a dusty ledge below him. With the wind to his face, it was unlikely that the Vulcan smells him; it is wise to prowl forward with stealth. He stands, backing a step, waiting for the wind to pick up noise before he nimbly slides to the ledge and kneels there. Gloved hands, resting in the sand as he leans over to see the Vulcan who still remains unmoved. He nods to himself, the winds are steadily venturing into gusts buffeting him and the sand, twisting and rocking. It is well that he would continue downwards; a dust-storm comes. He is unsettled by the strange Vulcan's presence, but that is unimportant. With the rise of the sands, his prey will have taken shelter in a shallow cave, and so shall he if the visibility remains as high as it, which he very much doubts at this time. He sits up, raising a leather mask over his chin, and looks around, eyes narrowed for a hint of shadowed depression that a cave entrance would make in the face of a wall of sand. There is nothing to his left as he shifts to the right; and nothing to the right as he shifts to the front. He is uncertain if there are actually caves here so he looks down, below his ledge and spots the Vulcan; as well as the barley defined ridge that they are sprawled near, their body slowly being erased by sand.


	2. Chapter 2

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: combination of two separate pieces, give me a heads up if anything is wack

_no beta but me

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

He would go towards the strange Vulcan, no matter his trepidations and share the meager shelter; by force if he was unwelcome. He inhales, no smell but the sand in the wind around him and he creeps forward, intensely aware of the sporadic angles of the gusts. Until the backside of his boots hug the wall below the ledge and his grip tightens just so on the edge. He loosens his grip and skirts down the slight declination, rock and dust spitting up into the gusts, and smacking into him. He squints through the debris until he thuds down onto the coarse sand that coats the crevice between the two rock walls. Sand fire would not reach so far inward; however, the tight tornadoes of low hanging sand where irritating his eyes as he stood. He stood for a moment, shaking of the sand that he can and ignoring the majority that sticks to his clothes.

He glances to the left noticing a trail of items that leads to the Vulcan some steps to the side of him. Instead of heading for the overhang he makes his way to the beginning of the trial, where the narrow crevice juts out into the barren forge and the stench of singed sand fills his senses and he crouches, hand hovering over the items. The Vulcan's path outside of the slim crevice has already been obscured by the brutal gusts of wind, and he returns his attentions to the objects in front of him. With a slow swipe of his hand he tries to dust it off, when the winds cover it with more sand. He picks it up, holding it in the shelter of his body, away from the wind and sand. It is a ripped patch of cloth, cloth that he has never seen before, and is certain that is was not made by Vulcan hands.

Straightening, he lets the golden cloth fall, and slowly makes his way back to the strange Vulcan. The Vulcan does not appeared to have moved, and is laying on their side, arms thrown akimbo, face hidden inside them. Spock pauses some paces from them, he does not want to venture closer; the furious sand compels him forward, drawing out his sheathed dagger. He grips it in his hand and warily moves it closer to the unconscious body and nudges the Vulcan over. He sees the harsh blue of the rare Vulcan sky before he feels a hard kick to his leg and he falls backward, arms splayed with a grunt of surprise, before he follows though and rights himself, dagger glinting numbly in the dust-storm. The Vulcan is standing, listing to the side head hanging, shoulders slumped. The Vulcan jerks, lists to the opposite side, brown hair hiding his features. He, the Vulcan is a man, slumps on the wall and then slides down and does not move. Spock waits, tense for further movement, and when none comes, his hand lowers.

"Mm'Boonnesss," the mummer catches Spock attention and he waits again, but the Vulcan does not speak, head slipping forward to rest on his canted knee.  
The voice was weak, and slow, harsh with dehydration, and sand. He'd been caught unawares by a weakened Vulcan, with no defenses but his body, he would not dwell on it and neither would he forget. Spock eases further into the slim shelter, the hot gusts of sand, only hitting his right side now; but he will not go closer to the collapsed Vulcan.

He is swift and unpredictable, but he still weakened, and Spock pushes his awareness of the Vulcan to the side of his mind as he leans further back out of the harsh wind and kneels down, a hand resting near his boot, and the other laying over his knee. He takes a breath, preparing to enter a light meditation trance, eyes half lidded, but not closing as he slips away, the bare awareness to his surroundings assures him that there is no danger present.

A jarring crash resounds through the rock and momentarily silences the winds as Spock is slapped out of his trance. He stares up, moth ajar under his mask as he sees a wild sehlat scrabbling for a foothold twenty feet up. A painful scream echoes downwards from the creature, making Spock glance at the Vulcan. He is still unconscious, but is beginning to show signs of wakefulness. Spock glances back at the stranded sehlat, who is going to eminently fall and shifts his gloved hand under his foot so can he tug the glove off. He does not want to shake off the layer of sand that camouflages him, as he slowly reaches sideways towards the Vulcan's bare leg and foot. He grabs it, thumb and finger connecting on the other side of the ankle.  
Be still.  
The Vulcan stiffens, as he awakens, and his mind flares under Spock's grip, before he slackens under the brush of imagery Spock is giving him. Spock sees him shift, sand drifting, to get a better view of the wild sehlat. Its lower body is dragging over the edge; however, it seems to be confused to whether it will climb back up or fall. Spock retracts his hand, laying it flat on the sand, next to the glove. He tracks the sehlat's confused and panicked movements; it does not want to fall and it does not want to venture back up the rock. He knows that sehlat do not like climbing rocks, just as he knows that something has chased the creature to its suicide. When the sehlat does fall, Spock wants to be as far from its predator as possible, and can't in a dust-storm, that has not abated in the two point five hours of light meditation that he had taken. A raw yowl is carried on the wind, and it is not from the sehlat. The sehlat shudders with the sound, hind legs pushing up and sliding down once before its body falls, sliding down, spraying rock and dirt. A small rock hits Spock, from the opposite side of the screaming sehlat.


	3. Chapter 3

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: combination of two separate pieces folks. anything's wack let me know

_no beta but me

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

Spock looks over at the Vulcan, who wiggles dirty fingers in semblance of a wave. The sehlat crashes down, throwing a thick layer of sand over them and doesn't move again. The sand rages in its confines, adding to the hard wind, before it drops down to the ground. He jerks back as he feels movement against his arm, and raises his dagger to the Vulcan's throat.

"Are you going to sit here all day?"

Spock stares at him, uneasy with his proximity and the le'matya that he was sure was atop the cliff and could not see, "There is no where else to go."

"Sure there is. A ways down to the north," the Vulcan gives a flippant gesture to the side, "lots of caves down there."

Spock is going to answer, when the le'matya gives another yowl and he glances up, sees it prowling. It will eventually find a way to its prey.

"Are you certain?" he asks.

"I know these parts and before you ask—yes you can trust me." the Vulcan gives a one armed wave, the other clutched firmly to his chest.

Spock glances up again and towards the dead sehlat and stands quickly sand running off him. the Vulcan stays splayed below him, eyes glass bright in his dirty face.

"You called yourself M'Bones," Spock says, looking down as he sheathes his dagger.

The Vulcan stills, eyes just so widened for a half a second, before smiling up at him, "Yeah, I did say that; didn't think you caught it."

M'Bones looks down and then up. "Mind helping me up?"

He lifts his left hand and Spock takes it with his right as he heaves M'Bones up, and they stand chest to chest. Spock steadies M'Bones by the arm, his blue eyes nearly rolling back into unconsciousness. He looks down at the Vulcan's attire, noting the tears in his unusual gold shirt and black slacks. He looks back up; the eyes are staring at him, watching him.

"You are injured. Are you able to run the short distance to the caves." he gives in answer to the unspoken question.

M'Bones looks down at himself, and then back, "I had a sling for my arm." he says, dry throat catching. He shrugs his right shoulder, indicating his arm, still tucked close to him.

"I probably lost it before I got near here though." he says. "But I can run."

His eyes are hard as he says this, and they stare over Spock's shoulder, out into the dust-storm. Spock nods once, and drops his hold, jogs over to the entrance to the crevice, where the blistering wind smacks the hot rock face. He hears M'bones uneven gate as he walks over to him.

"The storm has been ongoing for three hours and four minutes already, it should abate soon." Spock says, leaning away from the wind.

"Rather than later, huh?"

Spock looks over to him; he is crouching near the trail of items that he had found earlier. He chooses not to reply to M'Bones sarcasm, "Those are yours."

"Hm? Yeah, looking for some extra shirt or something." M'Bones replies, throwing something that is more sand than anything else to the side

Spock watches as M'Bones looks between a length of rag and himself for a moment, before he eases himself onto his rear. He sticks his leg out and attempts to tear a black trouser leg. He frowns at his inability to tear it for a moment before his eyes hesitantly seek out Spock.

"Would you—"

Spock is already walking over to him, "I would not mind."

M'Bones watches him come closer, and Spock takes out his dagger and because he does not trust him he keeps it as he crouches near the outstretched leg.

"Where do you want to cut, M'Bones"

M'Bones slowly blinks and shakes himself, "Near my knee should be good."

Spock returns attention to the leg and reaches out to tighten the fabric. It slides against his fingers and is rougher on the outside than on the in. He traces the off world fabric for two point five seconds before he pinches the fabric between his fingers and slices it open. M'Bones lifts his leg as he reaches the bottom and goes around to complete the cut. The fabric flutters in the wind before M'Bones snatches it.

"Thanks."

"'Thanks' are unnecessary." Spock replies, watching M'Bones tie the two rags together with some sheathes his dagger and standing, half turns to the crevice opening. Half turns to the dead sehlat that the le'metya prowls on the ridge above. Spock turns back to M'Bones, who has gotten the rags around his left shoulder as he tries to tie a makeshift sling.

"We must hurry, the le'matya has already fallen closer." Spock says. He walks over to M'Bones and takes the rags from his one hand over a grunt of derision and wraps them around his arm. He slows near the hand because he sees the full extent of the damage done to M'Bones. All of his fingers are crudely broken, and beginning to swell with blood.

M'Bones shifts under his scrutiny, "It's nothing, really. Just hurry up, okay?"

"You are Vulcan; it is not 'nothing'." Spock says, looking up into M'Bones steady glare.

"I'm fine." he repeats, muscles stiff with an almost stomp and he agitatedly gestures to his hand, "We gotta teethy lion thing to run away from, so that means you gotta hurry and just wrap my fingers. That is why you came over here, right?"

Spock stiffens, and looks back down and restarts with the thumb, before he ends with wrapping the whole hand and steps away from M'Bones. The many definitions of 'fine' circulating through his mind as he turns towards the crevice entrance.

"Understood," he says to the crevice entrance. "The winds have abated currently, we should begin."

He hears a sigh from M'Bones as he gives affirmation. Spock moves aside as M'Bones limps past him and pauses at the entrance looking west and east. Spock's left hand itches where it is exposed to the sand wind and he wipes against his thigh. M'Bones gives a half-hearted back hand wave, and moves from his position, away from the crevice. Spock walks out into the dust-storm after him. The wall of wind is thick with blustering sand and bludgeons into his body, causing him to seek some stability near the cliff wall. M'Bones is right beside him, eyes narrowed as he shifts close to shout in his ear.


	4. Chapter 4

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: combination of two separate pieces folks. anything's wack let me know

_unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

Spock moves away from M'Bones, getting a better view of his face. M'Bones face is gaunt in the shifting light, and the bloodlessness of his skin is more evident in the heightened light than it was in the crevice. Spock focuses on M'Bones, glancing from his moving lips to his outstretched arm, and shakes his head. He cannot hear what M'Bones is trying to say as the gusts of sand wind slap around them. M'Bones glares at him for a moment and then shifts closer again, leaning on the rock. Spock shifts away again and this earns another glare. M'Bones is quicker the third time and shoves his face onto Spock's left shoulder.

"Meld with me" he shouts over the viscous sand-wind. Spock leans away, with a shake of his head.

He will not meld with complete stranger, who has not given him a reason to trust, other than to tell him to. "Negative."

Their stares lock each other down and they stand there for one point oh three minutes, the stubbornness unrepentant in M'Bones eyes. M'Bones coughs, hand leaving the rock to cover it, and his brows furrow. He takes a step into Spock's space and glares at him as he leans into him.

"… need to…ver t… ow mounta… to th… north," he takes a harsh breath against Spock's shoulder and Spock looks to north to see the indistinct shade of a low hill. For M'Bones to know of it must be a constant feature and not of impermanent sand dunes. Spock nods, "…o the l… t ther… a… …aves."

His voice chokes at the end as he slips on the rock, shoulder hitting the hard surface. Spock reaches out by reflex, before he pulls back and watches M'Bones right himself and raise his lowered head to squint at him through the sand wind. Spock answers with an exaggerated nod and motions for M'Bones to begin walking. M'Bones frowns at him but slides off the rock wall and takes unsteady limps northward, strides becoming more confident the longer he walks. The first time he looks back over Spock's shoulder, Spock turns as well expecting the le'matya to have come down upon them, and there is nothing there. Spock turns back to him, but M'Bones has already turned away, head bent to the sand wind. Their pace is slow and not always steady, the dust-storm varying in degrees of brutality every half yard, but they are leaving the steep rock face behind. When Spock turns to look back he does not see it, even as a shade of the storm.

Spock is following not close behind M'Bones, eyes downcast to prevent overt irritation of the eye when M'Bones again stops and looks back, his bare feet scratched by sand. The scratches are carrying clusters of wet sand that have adhered to the weeping blood.

Spock continues to walk towards his still feet, knowing that he will soon turn around. He does not expect the feet to sprint towards him, strong on the shifting sand dunes. He looks up, into the wide eyes of M'Bones— who is shouting into the wind. Spock stops walking forwards, stalled as he stares uncomprehending at M'Bones, who is still shouting silently in the dust storm. Spock begins turning to look back, as finally M'Bones raises an arm and— doesn't point. He is on Spock like wild sehlat, pushing him down and sideways. Spock careens out, flying on low born winds, before he crashes down. Already he is up, eyes never having left M'Bones heady run. Nothing can be done, as he watches M'Bones running parallel to a sleek le'matya, sling slapping in the sand wind. The le'matya circles with M'Bones for half a second, and it is on him, yowling over the sand wind. Then it falls back, jaw lagging open, towards the dusty figure of M'Bones; then it is gone.

Spock stands in the whip lashing wind, conscious of his dislocated shoulder, as he tries to hold his arm firmly to his side. The hazy silhouette of M'Bones is no longer against the vague horizon and Spock gives more weight to holding a weapon than to holding his arm. He clumsy reaches for his dagger with his left hand, and trudges through the dust-storm. He tries to hold his arm close, and a spike in the constant pain makes him stop. He paces slowly towards where he has last seen M'Bones and circles around it, eying the area. The la'metya is no longer near him, but he does not want to stay out in the open any longer. He spirals in to M'Bones, who is lying on his side and not moving. Spock kneels next to him, and sheathes his dagger, rather than lose it in the sand, to turn him over.

"Ne ki'ne," gasps M'Bones, hands grabbing at Spock's face. Spock shuts down his shields, stiffening with the fast humming of a mind so close. His words are Vulcan; flat and monotone, in complete opposition to when the ragged words of standard slip through. The utter differentiation of the two languages spoken in tune with one another is unsettling and Spock shifts his left hand to pry M'Bones off.

He pushes down M'Bones' straining arms, and holds them there, "M'Bones."

His try is rewarded only M'Bones trying to free himself, skin scratching against leather.

"M'Bones." he says again, right shoulder tousled by M'Bones struggling. "M'Bones you must cease struggling. I do not wish to harm you."

M'Bones does not. Given he had no knowledge of what M'Bones had done; it was unlikely that the la'metya would return. However unlikely it also was that a la'metya would have left an already attained meal to hunt two humanoids down. He presses M'Bones into the sand and quickly adjusts his left hand at meld points, before he can be pushed off. The ritual words are spoken and the heavily shielded mind of M'Bones enters Spock's mind. Even in delirium, his shields are held tight, and Spock can only venture so far with pressure before a mind will break. To be able to exchange information at this point was impossible, and that was the intended purpose of this.

Spock's body leans back as he is in the meld, sand scrapping his exposed skin. This would be easier if M'Bones and he were more familiar with each other's mind, but he should not waste time on the fact they were not. M'Bones first word to him in delirium had been 'ne ki'ne'. Had M'Bones recognized him as another? Spock leans forward, reaching out with that one word of familiarity. The body below him slacks, arms crumbling down, and Spock opens his eyes. Pupil blown eyes stare up at him through the sand wind and Spock breaks his fingers away.

M'Bones licks his lips with a dry tongue and gives a bleary smile, "hi…"

He stops, "I don't know your—"

"M'Bones, how close are we to the caves."

"—aves?" M'Bones rolls his shoulders and looks away, "Close. We were close."

"Are you able to walk." says Spock, watching M'Bones slowly blink and wince as sand irritates his eyes. "M'Bones!"

M'Bones twitches at the forceful tone and finally looks back up, "I don't— yeah?"

M'Bones' trembling hand reaches up towards his head, before falling back. Spock reaches out and quickly runs his fingers over M'Bones head and there is a sizable lump there, he lets the bangs fall back.

* * *

A/N:

_ne ki'ne= 'shield partner/wingman the person a warrior could trust most in the heat of battle; a trusted friend and skilled warrior', courtesy of VLD


	5. Chapter 5

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: combination of two separate pieces folks. anything's wack let me know

_unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

_ **im returning to school next week and as a full time college student, this may mean more infrequent updates**

* * *

"It appears you may be concussed" Spock says, leaning back, the sand wind increasingly ferocious.

He looks out over the sand dunes, unease becoming apparent in the vastness of the open. He does not want to stay here for a prolonged amount of time. His left hand strays to his limp right arm. He would have difficulty managing M'Bones body with a lame arm, but it was not impossible with a great deal of pain.

"Are you able to walk." he repeats, looking down. M'Bones eyes are closed to the sand wind and he does not answer.

With M'Bones newly acquired concussion and his apparent exhaustion beforehand, there is a seventy point one percent chance that he will be unable to remain aware of his surroundings long enough to navigate and direct Spock to a location of relative safety. Spock nods to himself in decision and closes his eyes. He takes deep breaths, evening out his emotional turbulence with each. He finds his pain receptors at his right shoulder and deliberately stoppers them. He opens his eyes and his shoulder is numb and M'Bones glassy stare is on him.

"What didyou jus' do." M'Bones words are faint and do not make it past the building wind, but Spock sees his mouth form the words.

Spock does not immediately answer him as he tugs sharply on his arm. He hears the dull thud of bone righting itself and exhales.  
He moves his right arm, grasping air with his fingers. the numbness of his shoulder gives him ample information on muscle damage; however, it is well received information in their current position, and is not yet to an unbearable extent which would render him unable to carry M'Bones.

"Nothing of concern." Spock says. M'Bones is resting on his elbows, watching him as does this with a frown befuddled by concussion. Spock begins to stand, reaching for M'Bones shoulders and standing him up as well. M'Bones sways in his grip, head falling forward.

"M'Bones … M'Bones, show me where to continue on." he says and M'Bones mumbles something that does not catch before he looks up at Spock.

"'he hill…" M'Bones trails off, eyes fading close. Spock grips him harder, and fails in ignoring the dangers of such an open position.

"Understood, M'Bones. After that?" Spock does not shake him once. M'Bones opens an eye, that fixes on him, pupil wider and emptier.

"Nor' eass" and his weight drags on Spock and Spock moves him to his left and swings an arm under M'Bones'.

His fingers touch on warm wetness and Spock straightens, looking over their shoulders to his raised hand. He glances down to the sand where M'Bones had been laying and does not profane aloud. A coagulated patch of red sand struggles to remain intact in the sand wind at his feet, and his hand shines sticky red in the light. He grabs M'Bones by the waist, turning his back to him; there is a mild gash above M'Bones left shoulder steadily leaking fluid and blood. He skims the wound with his fingers and inspects it, but there is nothing to be done here.

He tugs the black under-fabric over the wound and presses down. M'Bones does not even stiffen in pain. Spock is certain that the wound was caused by the le'matya and therefore he knows that this wound is much more threatening than it appears. If the wound was caused by the incisors of the le'matya than M'Bones would be well; if the wound was caused by the teeth and then rubbed by the scales near the snout of the la'matya, M'Bones would be in dire need of a healer. Medical assistance that he may be unable to provide in such a short time.  
He lets go of the shirt and it stays stuck to the wound, keeping any other irritants out. M'Bones sags against him before Spock heaves him stomach down over his left shoulder.

Spock passes the hill thirty point six minutes later, and the dust storm is all but dissipated. It is quiet immediately afterwards, wildlife still hunkered down and the sand inside his clothes is beginning to irate his skin. Then the desert life rises; sha'vokh swinging high, c'hik burrowing out of the sand and aylak skitting across it. He stops at the entrance of a valley, an old river delta, where in the distance the river bed meets between two high ridges; it has swallowed many pounds of sand. He shifts M'Bones body as he looks around. The cave should be in the vicinity; however he has not spotted it. With the clearing of the storm, the predators will have begun moving and he— they cannot afford to come upon one. He slides his way down to the blurred basin, almost correctly compensating for M'Bones added weight and not for his right shoulder. He stumbles down, shaking sedated sand stuck to him and M'Bones, but they do not fall. Now that he is level with the bottom, he sees many caves. He does not sigh in relief, walking forwards. He stops at the first one he comes to and smooths his hand over the rock dull from erosion; however, when he ventures inside, it becomes a shallow cave. Shallow enough that it offers no protection from another dust-storm.

He does this for the second, the third and the fourth; as he reaches the fifth consecutive cave, his hand catches on nonconformity in the rock. He dusts the sand off and it appears to have been a sign. The harshness of frequent dust-storms has worn it beyond comprehension. He needs to set M'Bones down, and he does not know if the cave is uninhabited. For two point two seconds longer he stands there, before he backs away and shrugs M'Bones off his shoulder and leans him near the cave entrance. M'Bones is not responsive to the jostling or to Spock checking his wound that continues leaking fluids.  
Spock takes his dagger in his left and penetrates the cave and it immediately becomes apparent that it is deeper than the other's. The evening sun tapers off and the blown sand does not reach very far inward as Spock advances deeper and is not overtaken by unfriendly inhabitants. He goes as far as he dares, which is fifteen point two five feet, before he straightens in decision and awkwardly sheaths his dagger. He exits the cave, drags M'Bones inside and rolls him over onto his stomach, before tugging his face protector off and settling it around his neck.

Spock makes sure his head is turned to the side for ease of respiration, before he turns attention to M'Bones backside. The yellow top shirt is saturated with blood and is doing nothing, so Spock completes the tearing that is already there and tugs the rags off. To the side he flattens them, before tearing them to reasonable lengths of cloth. The red blood seeps onto his hands and he pauses to rub his thumb over the blood on his hand. M'Bones blood is iron based; however, M'Bones has strong Vulcan features. An up-swept brow; pointed ears, that are not slightly rounded as they would have been otherwise and the blue eyes of the northern clans. If his blood were so diluted as to be iron based, he would not have such features. However, he would possess body mass characteristically similar to that of a terran; which he does. Fascinating.

"What are youu doooing?" M'Bones murmurs. Spock blinks down at him.

M'Bones also cannot enter a healing trance. Spock places the length of rag down and concentrates on him. His eyes are closed, but in the furrowed brows and ridged lips, there is evident distress.

"I am attempting to temporarily stem your bleeding."

An exhalation of 'oh' is M'Bones response. M'Bones left arm straightens, before bending, fingers grasping at cave gravel almost attempting to push himself up.  
Spock reaches forwards, and stops him, "M'Bones, you are not in a desirable state, I would recommend you desist from such detrimental actions."  
M'Bones collapses back and laughs, and coughs; the laughter is overtaken by the coughing. His eyes finally open, and Spock is not certain why his pupils are still dilated, and his smile is gone.

"Sucha proper Vulcan." Spock frowns at his condescending tone, and receives a toothy smile. "'Minds mee of him."

M'Bones trails off, eyes drifting close, breath puffing loose sand-dirt.

* * *

A/N: courtesy of VLD:

_sha'vokh- bird of prey; carrion eater  
_aylak-small lizard  
_c'hik- small burrowing animal


	6. Chapter 6

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: _unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

Spock is quiet for one point two five seconds, unsure if M'Bones has lost to unconsciousness. He shifts and M'Bones speaks in a quiet murmur. "Which cave did you pick?"

His words are no longer slurred and confused, but his eyes remain closed; his shivering body curls slightly around his injured arm, and fresh blood leaves a line down his cheek. Spock places his hands on his knees.

"The one you wished me to choose." Spock says, taking back up the blood infused material and draining it to the side. Blood drips to the ground. M'Bones nods, and his body's shivering increases fifteen percent. "I have taken the liberty of divesting you of your shirt, so as to better—"

"Why are you still here?"

"—assist you. Spock continues, and takes his dagger to make minute cuts in the material. He sheathes it and proceeds to lengthen the cuts into separate lengths of strips. "Now would be an appropriate juncture to garner the full extent of your injures."

Spock does not understand why M'Bones insists on interrupting him, and therefore will not answer an interruption. M'Bones gives a quiet 'okay' and Spock leans over him, fingers picking at his black undershirt. Spock slowly peels the rag away and the gash erupts with a milky liquid that is not blood. M'Bones stiffens, groaning as Spock fully uncovers the wound; his shivering has increased another thirty percent to the point where Spock says," Your symptoms are similar to an allergic reaction, M'Bones."

"D-did you touch my earsss?' M'Bones responds, his dilated eyes open.

"I-" Spock stops, straightens and looks at M'Bones with an eyebrow raised. He has no reason yet to inspect any area of M'Bones ears, without his consent, nor would he initiate it without. They are not romantically involved and do not know one another; there is no feasible reason why M'Bones has asked this, "have not."

"Oh." M'Bones says. "Then, yeah, it's an allergic r-reaction."

Spock's brows are both raised, "May I inquire…what to?"

"I think," M'Bones fully opens his eyes to roll his eyes over to him, "I think after y-you were sandstoned."

"'Sandstoned'" Spock intones, hands resting again on his knees. "I do not understand."

M'Bones gives a hoarse sound and his shoulders begin to shake. Spock reaches out to steady him by the shoulder, and realizes he is laughing.

"Out there," M'Bones makes an aborted gesture to the opening of the cave, "in the s-storm."

M'Bones stops laughing to gasp, shuddering under Spock's grip, "Th-the liz-zard thing."

Spock nods and lets go, "The le'matya; it secretes a paralyzing agent near its snout. Were you aware of this allergen?"

M'Bones has stopped shaking and his eyes have closed, and he does not answer him. Spock hesitates for point five seconds, before he hovers his palm over M'Bones arm. The slow burn of M'Bones' mind heats his shields, and he pulls back.

He turns to the strips, and drapes them over his thighs, before returning attention to M'Bones back. He uses the shortest of the strips to clean around the wound, draining it when it will no longer soak up liquid and blood. His shoulder begins to slowly ache, no matter the amount of receptors he nulls, and refuses to move how he wishes it to. As he finishes cleaning M'Bones, thirty point four minutes later, he suppresses a gasp as his arm finally breaks down, and drops to his side. He closes his eyes, breaths deeply ten times, and reassesses his shoulder. The damage is seventy percent more extensive than it had been, and he would not be able to complete anything else of impact without ample support for it.

He glances at the rags, and dismisses them immediately; they are too flimsy and would serve M'Bones better. He unties his pack and catches it before it falls, to rest it near M'Bones head, before he stands. He looks around the seeable portion of the cave. This cave is marked; M'Bones knows of it; M'Bones sought safety in it, in his precarious state; therefore, there must be supplies somewhere in close proximity.

* * *

A/N: apologies for the short chapter, theres a few more of those coming


	7. Chapter 7

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: _unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

He turns away from M'Bones, and stares into the caves gradual darkness. He walks, body swaying closer to the wall, in violation of his wish to remain independently mobile. His left hand makes contact with the cave wall; he leans on it as he takes a step forward. The rock is sharp against is fingers, warm with the fast fading heat of the setting sun. In approximately two point five hours the sun will fully set below the horizon and nightly temperatures of forty five degrees will sufficiently hinder M'Bones continued health, and Spock's own abilities to render assistance.

Spock has taken some steps when he stops, glancing around at the total encompassing darkness muffling his senses and leaving him with no visual stimuli. His hand moves over the cave wall, and he feels loose bits of dirt fall over his hand. It should not be this dark when there is two hours of sunlight left for feasible visibility. It is a minor perturbation, when he can quickly turn on a flashlight. Except he does not currently possess his bag. He looks behind, the way he has come, and remembers leaving it with M'Bones. Except he should not have been surprised by this memory, having only experienced it twenty minutes previously. His fingers dig into the rock and dirt; he is not at his fullest and he does not know why.

He stifles his immediate reaction to turn, and return. To turn leaves him with no physical contact with the rock, and no way of knowing if he returns the right and correct way. He has no way of knowing how far and wide this maze of caves goes, or if he has passed adjacent caves. He blinks at the thought, apprehensive that he should know if he has passed other entrances. He slowly turns, keeping as much contact as is physically possibly with the rock wall. He grunts when he inadvertently puts pressure on his right shoulder. He leans away, fingers barely scarping the rock. The position is highly awkward, and would be ninety eight percent more efficient if he had full motor control of his right shoulder. He remains in this position as he walks back, the gradual return of visual stimuli, enabling him to drop his arm and continue on at a more than sedate pace. Some minutes later he comes into view of M'Bones dark figure, lying where he has left him. Spock looks past him to the mouth of the cave. The dry river bed there is no longer a dull angry red, but an obtuse dark under the dark of night. Spock finds himself standing at the mouth and he looks back to where he remembers standing only seconds before. His left hand curls, before he forcibly loosens it and carefully walks back to his bag and M'Bones. He moves around M'Bones, whose body is no longer on the verge of convulsing.

Whose eyes are a wide clear blue in the dark light, "Where'd you go?"

His voice is tight, and when he is done speaking his body shudders, whether from the decreased temperature or a sign of an impending seizure, Spock is unsure.

"Why am I compromised." Spock does not answer him, crouching in front of him.

M'Bones brows furrow looking up at him, mouthing the word. "You should not have left."

"I do not wish to repeat myself."

"I already told you!" M'Bones attempts to sit up and Spock clamps down on his uninjured shoulder.

Spock holds him there, considers the statement, "You did not, how you say, 'tell' me. You informed me of being 'sandstoned'; however, you failed to explain further. I wish to know the cause of my experiencing loss of time, loss of sense of direction and loss of clear mental functions. You will tell me the correlation between these symptoms I have listed and your 'sandstoned.'"

Spock is not above showing a threat to be perceived at this time and they glare at each other; or Spock glares, and M'Bones stares.

"You don't get out much, do you." M'Bones says, sagging into Spock's grip. He keeps eye contact with Spock, "The dust-storm. It was the dust-storm, it lulls the unsuspecting Vulcan, with a 'scape all the same—"

"You are quoting something." Spock says.

"Yeah, but that doesn't matter; that was your first time out in a 'storm, right?"

"Negative."

"Okay, how about that was the longest you've been out in one."

Spock nods, "How does this information pertain to my current condition?"

"The longer you're out, the higher the chance." M'Bones says with a smile and Spock feels a minute shiver pass through his body.

"You will cease with your rhymes. I do not… I do not understand."

M'Bones smile has faded, and his eyes slip down and close for moment, "How long do you think we were out there before the lizard came along."

"An hour and… thirty minutes, no more." Spock pauses, "Why do you insist on naming the le'matya as such?"

* * *

A/N: 'sandstoned' is completely fictional and i made it up. also theres way to much dialogue here tbh


	8. Chapter 8

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: _unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

"Because that's what it is, a lizard thing." M'Bones answers, head thumping against his left arm. "Wait- wait- wait, stop dammit."

Spock's brow rises at the unwarranted incrimination. The use of a cultural Terran term, adds more credence to the hypothesis that M'Bones is not full blooded Vulcan, however Spock is unsure why a le'matya would be damned. No less does it not inhabit Terra, but the planet it does, does not adhere to the countless Terran cultures or philosophies. He begins to object.

"No, not you, dammit— sorry." M'Bones says, pushes against Spock's grasp in agitation. "That's not important; your sense of time is what is— can't keep gettin' side tracked." he mutters, reprimands himself.

To caution one's self is to invite the inherent attribute of negativity. Spock had not realized the conversation to be 'sidetracked', "My sense of time."

"Off by about an hour," M'Bones says. Eyes look away with furrowed brows for a moment. The blue irises are a slits around the pupil, likely from the absence of light and the night darkens them near black in shadow. "-cks, i don't even know your name. You need to sit down, Vulcan."

Spock drops his hand and sits back. He looks over to his left, sees the torn fabric, "… a simple exercise to wrap your wounds, however I have no means to acquire adequate support for my re-located shoulder."

M'Bones mouth is slightly ajar, "That's why you left?"

His tone is incredulous and Spock sees no reason why, "Affirmative. As it is not wise to move you—"

"It's not wise to move yourself, either." M'Bones reaches out with his uninjured arm and attempts to swipe at the pile of strips, "you've never been standstoned before, you need to wait it out. Better I can see, than getting lost and dying, because you tripped and fell and didn't even know it.'

M'Bones arm is trembling and he stops, lets it fall across his body with a sigh.

"Duration?" Spock asks, reaching for his bag and putting it front of him, "Your bleeding has not decreased in the time since the dust-storm, you may very well bleed out by the time my body is no longer negatively influenced."

M'Bones' eyes are closed again, "It depends."

He fails to further explain and Spock looks to his bag. He taps it with his fingers before unhooking the lock and lets the flap slip backwards. The main inner compartment is indiscernible in the dark and Spock's hand moves to rest on his knee, "On what identifiable and manageable characteristics."

M'Bones reply is very quiet, "Meditation."

Meditation to focus his mental prowess into dealing adequately with the imbalanced hormones. Spock nods shifts his legs so that he is sitting cross legged in front of M'Bones. He takes a breath and his eyes close. Vague stimuli begin to fray away from his conscious and the physical world becomes an idea he can only know exists as he draws into his silent mindscape of windswept Vulcan arches and still desert. On the precipices of his physical hearing ending he hears.

"… it won't take that long…"

He is fully in the depths of his mindscape, he takes a step and everything shutters. His projected body is gone, his serene back drop is vanished and his mindscape is pitch. Misguided panic struggles in him when he fails to end his imposed meditation. He looks down, or believes he does, and there is no fraction of light, no minute scraping of shadow in the black. He does not see the reasoning behind his deluded decision to place his mental health in the hands of an utter stranger. He stands at parade rest, sensory input notwithstanding, and knows he should have tested the Vulcan when first he laid sight of him. Has he trusted the Vulcan, because of his inherent humanity, inherent Terran features, similar to his own? That it had brought a kind solace to him that there was a being alone on the surface of Vulcan, akin to his mother? Like his mother, alone and still able to bring forth thoughts to smile so unabashedly.

Of course, his father was correct; his Terran blood had choked his Vulcan blood in the moment that he had needed to be most Vulcan. His father had been correct in gently admonishing his speculations in regard to the lower classes of Vulcan. Lower only because they were genetically predisposed to be, and have behavior, more human than Vulcan.

He has been spared this tendency to behave as such because he is half Vulcan, and received a Vulcan upbringing. However much his Human mother had wanted different, his father had laid down the many failures of raising a Vulcan child in alien ways, when there was no justifiable cause.

From his interactions with the Vulcan, it is clear that he has not received the benefit of Vulcan learning parameters. He is quick to make decisions based solely on emotion. He behaves untoward, more so than other aliens Spock has met through his father's profession. M'Bones' actions and bearing indicate the lower class of Vulcan, who are more alien than Vulcan. This will be the first time he has physically encountered a Vulcan more alien than he.

* * *

A/N: again im a full time college student, so apologies for the more infrequent updates.


	9. Chapter 9

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him.

A/N: _unbeta'd

_all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

He has numerous acquaintances within and without his clan and all of them are Vulcan. He is the first of his clan to be blemished by impure blood, however much he is put to blame, it was his father that made the decision to mate with a Terran and solidify his claim to rule under the matriarch. Spock checks himself, closing eyes he does not have and corrects his ill-advised mental berating. He does not hate himself passively or otherwise, nor should he, no matter irritation of a childhood claiming otherwise. He rotates his right shoulder, feels the ache of pain that is no longer at so high a level. He pauses in mid-stretch, brows lifting; this is no medi-

A burn of pain and his eyes jerk open and see the dark cave air. He swoops down on M'Bones prone figure, fingers nimble on his dagger and he pierces hard dusty rock. His dagger grates sideways, forced from his stunned fingers. The memory of M'Bones body is gone from his sight, as he leans over a space that could not have been emptied.

"Now that was a test." from behind him. He turns dagger in hand and shoves M'Bones against the cave wall. Dagger shoves into M'Bones throat, "Feelin' better I bet."

"You lied to me." Spock growls, pushing into M'Bones gasping chest and M'Bones hand comes up to fail at leveraging him off.

"Yeah, and you trust to easily." M'Bones gasps. He squeezes Spock's arm with his hand in another useless attempt, head falling back to rest against the rock. "You wouldnta done it otherwise."

Spock glares at him, not releasing the pressure on him. It is then Spock realizes his dominant arm is holding M'Bones down, and without sever pain. The shoulder is only at sixty four point two five efficiency, but in comparison to before M'Bones falsifications, it is an improvement. Spock has remembered all of the last five minutes and counting and his ability to understand complexities has returned. He shifts, pushing the dagger into M'Bones skin. M'Bones is calm and does not wince in pain, only continues to glare at him under lidded eyes.

"Stop it."

Spock's brow rises at the presumptuous command, "It is highly likely that I will kill you."

"No, not that. Stop touching me." M'Bones says, pushing at him again.

"Touch—" Spock begins, glancing down at M'Bones attempts. M'Bones hand is gripping his ungloved hand. He tries to pull away, M'Bones moves with him, weighs down on him and they fall.

M'Bones straddles him, hand twisting the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. He leans in, "I don't got long, so listen."

Spock bucks into him, lunges forward and forces M'Bones under him. M'Bones grunts as his head hits the ground, fresh blood seeping into his hair and obscuring his sight.

"Negative, Vulcan, I will do what I should have done." Before he let his Terran blood delude Vulcan sensibility.

M'Bones eyes open, "You can; you won't get far on your own."

Spock pushes down on his chest, "Your unknown reference of ill consequence does not matter, I do not believe you."

Spock leans back, weight shifting from M'Bones chest, and looks at the rags he has cut, "However, you should not have been able to mobilize yourself; you are severely incapacitated."

He turns back to M'Bones, who is lying inert, "You were referring to basic telepathic transference, which is under strained control in times of high emotional stress."

There is no response and Spock slips his hand further up M'Bones chest to rest at his bared throat. He tenses with cold fear under Spock's touch before it tapers and the full spectrum returns. However the range is not full and Spock shifts his grip to M'Bones injured shoulder and bears down. M'Bones does not feel the pain.

"You are suppressing."

"I coulda left you in that 'trance." again M'Bones refuses to follow the previous topic.

"That is correct, yet you did not. Presumably because my adequate health is a factor in your continued survival."

M'Bones opens and then closes his mouth.

"However there is nothing of substance to convince to me to." Spock says, picks his weight off M'Bones and sits back. He sheathes his dagger and straightens his clothes. "It is likely, if I leave you here, the elements will imminently perish you. Either a fast death or a measurably slow death; you may choose."

M'Bones has risen to lean on his hands, features visibly blurred in the dark, "There's a med drop further in."

Spock glances into the blanketed cave, "I have no nee—"

"—and there's an incoming 'storm." M'Bones says lifting his chin to the entrance. "You won't be able to leave."

Spock looks over and there are no discernible signs of a dust-storm, the sedate sand filling the entrance is lit by filmy starlight and sparse desert brush is lank with inaction. He turns back, "Your findings are unfound—"

M'Bones is crouching right in front of him, leaning into his personal space, breath wafting across his skin, "I'm not lying, I grew up in this hot hole, and I got your little knife; so let's talk.'

Spock's hand grazes his vacant sheath, before he falls back, retreating away from M'Bones, who is running a palm over the length of the dagger. If M'Bones has indeed reached maturity on these lands, then they were clan. S'chn T'gai clan matriarch T'arak laid claim to this area of land twenty years after the former claim was brought into doubt over a viable and legal heir.

* * *

A/N: i have just come to the conclusion that the majority of this work will be pre-slash. uhm oops im sorry. my break begins today so i will try for at least another chapter =). also i will be extremely busy after break, just a heads up for updates ( more like few and far b/w)


	10. Chapter 10

nothing but my words belong to me, everything else is gene roddenberry's, bless him. A/N: _unbeta'd _all vulcan and related vulcan stuff is from memoryalpha or VLD

* * *

When the presiding line of inheritance of the former matriarchal clan had come into question regarding a valid heir, the small clan had spread to the winds, merging with much more mighty and powerful clans on the periphery of their clan lands. S'chn T'gai had encompassed the entirety of the clans southern border, and with little disagreement, incorporated the refugees of the collapsed clan as newly S'chn T'gai. Spock's memory of that specific history lesson returns to the background as he looks at M'Bones.

"What is your current age." Spock says, smoothing his hand down his shin and curling his fingers around his boot lap.

M'Bones glances up, before turning Spock's dagger in his hand, "I'd take your hand away from that knife before we chat."

Spock moves his hand, hears the first gust of howling storm wind slip past the cave entrance. How M'Bones knew a dust-storm was asserting itself on the land before the wind had risen is unknown to him, but this prediction lends itself well to M'Bones earlier stated fact of having been raised in the surrounding area. M'Bones has not moved from his crouch and seems content to stay there, sliding the slim dagger under his nails and wiping it on his pant leg.

"This is a nice old knife you've got, though I bet the ones in your boots are even sharper." M'Bones says, taking his concentration from the dagger and looks up at Spock.

'Old' is not well defined when the object in question is an immaculate reproduction of which the original predates the first era of clan S'chn T'gai. The steadily building, fractured winds, blow in from behind Spock, pushing him forwards and puffing sand dirt into air. M'Bones sways with the short gusts, they do not a disturbance his balance, and he does not fall.

"See? You shouldn't doubt me." M'Bones says, gestures with the dagger to the winds escalations. "But what I need is some bandages for me, and I know you remember what I said."

"… affirmative, however there is no obvious source of light at this time." Spock responds.

M'Bones blinks, "Huh, okay. C'mere, and bring that gross pile of shirt.'

Either he is unaccustomed to parlay with unfamiliar Vulcans or he is deliberately striding over the polite etiquette of, "Do not order me."

"I can. Get that stuff, _please_." M'Bones says, squinting against sand-wind.

Spock does not growl or bare his teeth as he glances to the side, swipes up the torn rags, and stands. His fists the rags, before his grip loosens and he looks up. M'Bones gestures for him; Spock goes quickly, and refuses to articulate the situation. Spock kneels to the right of M'Bones, whose position is further in the cave than his own was, and the dark light of night only illuminates the bare outlines of things.

Spock takes up a strip, "Give me your arm."

"'Give me _your_ arm.'" M'Bones replies, sliding the dagger from the loose cradle in his injured left to his right and bringing it to Spock's side.

"Enough, you are being willfully ignorant—"

"No. you're not Fran—," M'Bones says, stops and frowns, "—you're not what you want me to believe. Now move over and start."

He facilitates Spock's movement with the dagger. Spock pauses momentarily, then reaches out and begins carefully wrapping his shoulder. M'Bones' apparent slip in speech had alluded to to another individual that he likened to Spock in an opposing manner. He had also affirmed purposefully ignoring etiquette, so was aware that to commandeer choice from a foreign Vulcan, a Vulcan of a different clan, was paramount to treating the receiving Vulcan as a lesser being, a slave.

Spock reaches for another rag, and ties it to the end of the first.

The beginning of the name, if that was indeed what it was, did not have Vulcan origins; it did however, have pronunciation common to certain Terran languages. Then it was permissible to assume that the partial name belongs to another Terran, who M'Bones unequivocally pairs with what little he knows of him, which Spock has purposefully restrained his knowledge of.

He lifts M'Bones arm and M'Bones' eyes close, but his features remain unmoved.

To be compared as Terran by another Vulcan was to be a slave; why M'Bones considers him low, he does not fully understand. He slides the rag through blood roughened fingers, tying it to the beginning of another. The blood is dry and rancid from the heat of day and pervades even to his Vulcan senses, but it is a muddled brown; not the deep green of Vulcan. M'Bones' blood shows his inferiority, shows it in his sweat and blushed cheeks; even in his arid light eyes. Too pale to be born amidst the dark frosts of the north; diluted to a Terran smudge of emotion.

Spock glances to the side, M'Bones is staring out, in the direction of the cave, a ruddy highlight of new day sun highlighting his features. Spock rests his forearms on his thighs, feels the weight of the dagger shift, "I have finished."

The highlights shift, darkening in places as the winds blow sand, "You can't leave."

"Negative, there is ample light for safe travel; the dust storm has yet to reach fruition—"

"The sun won't be up for a coupla long hours, by then it'll be raging. So, you can't leave; I didn't even pick how I get to die.' M'Bones says, looking at him through a haze of immature sand wind.

"That is not sufficient—"

"Yes it is. Now get away." M'Bones says, lifting the dagger and pushing his fist into Spock's shoulder.

Spock stays crouched, and then stands; with M'Bones hand gripping into his shoulder. They are both standing, M'Bones drops his hand, and retreats to the far cave wall. His gait is not as strong, nor his speed as great; Spock is unsure why pain he has suppressed should affect him in this manner. However, with his physical exhaustion and hindered mental function, he may be unable to fully ignore the multiple injures of his body.


End file.
